Before him stood the heavy iron doors of the tyrant.
The true tyrant of this world.
The demon that had been ripping at his heart and patience.
This was going to be the final act, the start of a new age for Noxus and all of Valoran.
Holding his cane in his hands, he heaved the doors open with great effort.
It opened up to the truly monstrous hall, a rather fitting stage he thought trivially.
Before him lay a littered array of bones, tissue, and all sorts of gore that flowed into the canals between the stone tiles.
What was perhaps more surprising though was the complete lack of flies and pests.
Necromancy at its finest, to think purity of this filth could even be possible.
And the culprit stood before him upon his marble throne.
"Ah, Jericho… how nice it is to see you once more! Although I might question why you enter my own domain when for most it would be a most treacherous trek."
Boram Darkwill, a megalomaniac with a great for theatrics and drama as well as being perhaps the most powerful, and living, necromancer this world has to offer.
And he had sat at the Noxian Grand General seat for nearly two hundred years, at least so said the archives.
"You should be able to guess as to what my magics are capable of, so do not be so surprised that I could enter through this place undetected." Swain replied.
"Ah, so the Thorns finally have reached my neck… They should know that I am garbed in the embrace of the Iron Maiden. But they are not of concern at this moment. For you see, I was just about to have a light lunch."
Swain's eyebrows stiffened at this.
Boram had probably known that he was coming.
Whether that was from his own magical prowess or from his various agents and soothsayers was the real question.
His strategy might not work if even a slight slip-up was made, and even then it was already improbable in every sense of the word.
He had dedicated entire months to this single shot in the dark.
It was quite obvious from the scenery and his necromantic abilities what Boram's lunch would be.
From a small door to the right came two guards, dragging an unbelievably frail woman.
However, there was more to it than that.
From the ragged and jolting way that the guards moved, it was clear that they were automatons, but the echoing marble-like clattering told him that behind the obsidian black armor, there were only bones.
Not to mention how they were carrying the woman.
It was far less being dragged as being an attempt at supporting her form.
She would have undeniably become a fine woman if she had managed to get that far, but the assorted old bruises and occult symbols carved into her skin said something otherwise.
To put it simply, Swain knew that it was impossible to save her.
She was brought up to the throne and the guards attempted to gently level her before her king and master.
In reality the guards had literally dumping her before him, before their racketing bodies bowed and made their way out the way they came.
Once the guards had left, Boram knelt down beside her and intimately whispered something in her ear.
The woman had her back to Swain, it was already clear how she hadn't even noticed this second man from her drugged behavior, but Swain could tell that she had been completely brainwashed by Boram's Death Cult.
The foremost religion in Noxus, if one can call it that, it's greater good was entirely based around Boram as being the word of the Gods, a prophet that would bring all to enlightenment through the gates of mortality.
The entire ceremony was brief, as the woman's body spasmed in supposed ecstasy for a moment before it slumped ungracefully to the ground.
Boram delighted in his meal, trying desperately to suppress the exhilaration of the vitae anima, the inherent and base magic that every known living entity conjured in them, with little success.
As his body calmed, his gaze returned to the good man Jericho, his body visibly unmoved to the event.
"Was that to your liking?"
"Hardly, but considering your…" Swain glanced briefly around the hall to illustrate, "surroundings, I believe you to have hold back on the gore this time."
"It would be too impolite to use any such manners in front of any… more civilized folk."
"Beware those who decree that their word is the word of God, as their righteousness is always closest to that of madness." Swain quoted.
"Vox populi, Vox insaniae. Very well versed, friend. I applaud your fine tastes and sharp wit."
"Truly do you flatter me. Yet I must congratulate you on becoming my unofficial mentor all those years ago."
"Forgive me, friend, for I have barely even talked to the masses in these many years. Only the greatest may even seek my attention, so I doubt that I would have had time for one such as you."
"Then allow me to explain. You see, I believe there two ways to learn the finer arts. There is the following of your betters, understanding how they work around themselves and the world, and applying that as best you can to the circumstance."
"And what might the other be?" Boram asked, not understanding Swain's rigid and ready form.
"There is one problem to the former, that being the ability to only deal with success. So, you must look to the failings of others and make appropriate measures to prevent them. I look to you as the latter, friend."
In that brief moment, Boram's face had visibly flared red, his embarrassment so obvious that Swain's face moved to form a slight smile before his mind corrected it.
"I tire of this charade. I know why you have entered this place, and now it will be your tomb."
"Oh how swiftly you resort to violence. So befitting of a tyrant."
"Enough talk, worm! I have long wished to dispose of you and your pathetic excuses of allies!" Boram roared, conjuring a bolt of putrid light to pierce Swain's heart.
The bolt struck Swain hard, leaving his open flesh charred by the necromantic sorcery.
Yet he was still standing.
Why was he still standing?
Darkness enveloped Swain before dozens of ravens flocked into and nested in the open wound, sealing and reconstructing the burned flesh and clothes.
"You've already lost, Boram." Swain, no, something said.
"Ha! To only assume that form means your victory? How ambitious."
"I have only just started and you declare such a thing? This is not even my true form! " It replied.
In but a moment Swain was no more, instead something else had taken his place entirely.
A Demon Raven was truly an abomination. All the frame of a man was there, enveloped by the monstrous wings and jet-black feathers that seemed to strain light into shades of red, yellow, green to such an extent that Boram's eyes burned at the mere glance at the demon. Its four blasted ruby eyes glared into him, knowing full well that its meal was ready.
In an immense caw and gesture of the demon's hand, dozens, hundreds, legions of ravens took flight from those aphotic wings.
"Ha! You think that might even come close to scratching me!" Boram roared, conjuring a barrier out of the gore that lay strewn across the ground.
The wing beats of the ravens battered at the structure, echoing inside that tiny skeletal cage.
"You must really be a fool, Swain! Using only this! Pathetic!"
It was then that two massive talons pierced the structure.
"I thought you would be on the offensive by now, Boram. Or perhaps hiding in your little cage is the true way of a tyrant?"
"Ugh… Very well then."
From inside the cage blazed a sickly green light, burning hotter and hotter by the moment before the barrier evaporated by the necromantic energies.
From out of the ruins came a figure.
It had Boram's black coat and distinguished Noxian military uniform, but the face and hands were far from human.
Zombified, Swain thought, but it was too clean for that with no actual sign of decay, instead something more like mummification that was preserving his body.
Boram's body burned with that disgusting and putrid fire, his footprints charring the ground itself.
"I usually dislike using this, you see. Makes me feel rather old. Still, mood was meant for cattle and love, not war."
"I have no qualms, corpse demon. This day will end with your defeat as I have decreed!"
"Let us duel then, Lord of Fools!" Boram cried, incanting the Will of the Dead.
From the floor rose his steed, a massive and horrifying Demon-class Bone Golem, constructed from the remains of perhaps five score of his followers.
Raising its heavy fist, the Golem slammed it into the tiled ground in challenge.
Swain's stance changed, the first time in the fight, to ready himself for true combat.
The Golem charged towards him, bones rattling against the marble tiles.
Swain gestured his hand forward, a phasing beam of crackling energy blazing out of it.
The beam ripped into the Golem's torso, sending its matter across the room.
Knowing that the Golem had passed its use, the mummified Boram leapt down from his mount, attempting to tie Swain up in hand-to-hand.
His fist igniting in that sickly green flame that encompassed him, Boram flew straight towards the demon bird.
'If that thing hits me then it's going to be bad.' Swain thought.
Understanding the peril he was in, Swain flapped his gigantic black wings, summoning a dark wind of ravens to stop Boram in his tracks.
Boram defended, but his momentum had completely halted, something that he needed to regenerate fast.
Although he was competent at mid-range, he was far stronger when he could directly touch his foes, siphoning off their vitae anima and their hopes of victory and life. Considering how undeniably powerful Swain was, it would be fairly obvious how much of a hard time he would have at the beginning.
But that would pass in time.
Each second that Swain sustained his demon bird form, his stamina would be sapped drastically. He, on the other hand, would barely need to break a sweat.
Duce Corpus, the name he had given this ability to sacrifice his youthful expression for eliminating pain responders and dramatically increasing his resistance was an undeniably useful ability. His combined rejuvenation techniques in addition to Duce Corpus was his trump card and final say on any matter that dared defy him.
In his prime, even Demacian Paladins, the ultimate warriors of Runeterra, could barely even stand against him.
With Swain's obvious weakness in sight, it would only be a matter of time.
And time would always be on his side.
The battle had raged on for countless minutes, but Swain was showing signs of faltering.
"Where is your victory now? Or has your hubris gotten a hold of you for too long?"
"I AM NOT FINISHED WITH YOU YET, TYRANT!" Swain roared, sending another phasing bolt striking the ruined hall.
Boram let it strike him, as a show of superiority and just for the exhilarating feeling of danger.
The bolt warped and shredded the right side of his torso, but Boram still smiled like the masochist he truly was, not even the slightest wince on his face.
The green flame blazed across his open wound, cauterizing and sealing the wound with such disgusting brilliance that not even a scratch remained.
Cracking his reassembled back, Boram laughed heartily.
"What's wrong? Do you really think that continuing this fight will yield any victory? Even if you managed to control that Demon Bird in its entirety, it'll be completely useless! Useless, Useless USELESS! Can a whelp like you even stand up to such a veteran like myself!"
During this respite, Swain dispelled his form briefly. Although Boram was still a threat, he was regenerating and his taunts weren't winning him anything.
He moved and cracked his neck briefly, allowing his composure to return to him.
In fact, this was exactly what he wanted.
"Oh, well I see what you want now." Swain retorted.
There was a decent distance between himself and Boram, so he was safe for the moment.
Breathing deep, he let his magic and energy return to him in a brief meditation. For what he had planned, he would need every last drop.
"Well perhaps I might disprove your hypothesis." Swain said resolutely.
In a brilliant phasing burst of a sunset, Swain transformed once more.
The world immediately grew dark with the strange swarm of ravens that flew from those wings of night.
From each of their mouths gleamed a tiny spark of darkened light.
"BEATRICE!"
The hall was strafed with those demon beams, the lasers burning and obliterating the walls and marble tiles with ease.
Dust roiled and walls smelted under the raw firepower of Beatrice's barrage.
"BORAM! I sure as hell know that you survived through that, but I just want to decree something of my own. This is no mere brawl or dispute. This is a declaration of war!"
Through the dust cloud, Boram was already regenerating, but it was clear how much energy he had been using.
"In my many years of being the Grand General, I can tell you this much, Swain. Never start a losing war!"
"That's why I have this."
The world froze.
It was so quiet now, compared to the cracking of the falling ceiling and still sizzling walls.
Wait.
There wasn't any of that at all.
The entire hall was back to what it was all those countless minutes ago.
How?
Wait.
"You marvelous b*stard, using an illusion like that." Boram laughed.
Swain stood over him in some form of triumphant pose, his index and middle fingers directed at Boram's forehead as if ready to fire an imaginary pistol.
"I have learned from the best after all. Now victory is mine."
"Ha! What are you going to do! Fire one of your bird lasers at me?"
"Ad limbum ejecite, tyrannus."
Boram's final thought was of the translation.
'To limbo I cast you, tyrant.'
His mind and magic faltered before the incantation, falling into the eternal sleep that none had woken from.
This was Swain's final trump card, and perhaps the most conditional of all. It required his opponent to already be lost in delusion and false grandeur.
Not to mention how much it taxed Beatrice and himself meant that using it in any conflict apart from a duel could easily mean his death. Direct and sustained contact with his opponent was something that could be easily punished as well.
But its merits were the complete and utter pacification of any opponent that even had even the most remote of intelligences, capable of scattering the mind and any magical system tied with it.
Boram lay at his feet, staring up to the sky with wide and bewildered eyes.
It was finally done, after all these years of planning.
It was over.
Beatrice cawed at him, moaning about how much energy she had used to sustain the illusion.
"Good job, Beatrice. You did splendidly." Swain replied, ruffling her feathers.
And thus the tale is done.
"My Lord Swain, that was truly a magnificent story! But what happened afterwards?"
"I whisked away one frail beauty of the Black Rose and proceeded to set the night alight with fine wine in her private quarters."
"What! My Lord managed to do such a thing!"
Swain glared at Zachariah as if saying 'Of course not you idiot.'
The young aide-de-camp could be a pain at times, but he never failed to be uninteresting. Most of his reactions were better than anything that could be found in a Demacian romance novel, something that Jericho loved to pick and laugh at.
"As I declared earlier, Lieutenant, it was but a story that I made up on the spot. It honestly has no worth to it beyond my own narration."
"If I may, my Lord, for you to face off against the old Lord Darkwill in such a manner would be fitting for an epic! And such descriptions are beyond something my mind could even dare fathom! Although I'm not quite sure that Noxus would enjoy such a story this quickly revealed after your, forgive my frankness, disposal of Kieran and the untimely death of Boram would seem far too convenient."
"That is why it is a story that I intend for you not to share until you meet your grand-children. There are too many things now that would prevent this tall-tale of mine to even become published, considering how many ties Boram held with publication and politics. I'm not even going to get started again about the military again." Swain sighed, sifting his hand through his remaining hairline.
The changeling raven, the one Swain referred to as Beatrice, cawed at his side in what could be considered a beg for attention.
Swain broke a smile, ruffling her jet-black feathers like one would pet a dog.
Beatrice always loved Swain's attention, and had even gotten to the point where Zach would actually be able to stay alone in a room with her without getting woken up constantly by her mischievous and mocking taunts and cries.
"In any case, I want those industry cases brought right-front and center. Noxus is in a hard spot right now, and I can't have useless civilians roaming these streets when I am doing so much for their futures."
"Y-Yes Sir!" Zachariah snapped to, running out of Swain's quarters to secure the necessary documents.
"Oh~ My my, Zachariah, for you to be in such a hurry." A solitary woman said as he passed through the open door.
"Forgive me Ms. White, urgent business for the Grand General! I must be off." He replied post-haste.
Ms. White, Swain's courtier, smiled and stepped aside for him.
"Thank you, Ma'am!" Zach called as he rushed off down the hallway.
"Don't you just envy the young, Jericho?"
"You damn well know right, Leby."
"You know how much I dislike your little pet-name for me." She pouted.
"Please, I have to get to work now."
"You know, stories and rumors always have some form of truth to them."
"You're in my network, no? Of course you would have been in on my plan."
Ms. White chuckled briefly. "I saw two truths in there at least."
"And at least a dozen more lies."
"Well, 'whisking me away for fine wine' was one of them. And your fascination with those comics greatly amuses me."
"Ha, I always wanted to use at least two of those lines in my works."
"Well, I was going to ask if you wished to reenact one part of your tall tale later today." Ms. White said seductively.
Swain's eyebrow rose steadily.
"There is a dinner party at 7pm, and I have recently managed to procure some Freljord Mulled 157."
Swain's eyebrow dropped comically.
Ms. White hid her smile beneath her delicate fingers.
"Hopefully I should be finished by then, so I will be there."
"Make sure you have enough time to dress properly as well. Wouldn't want another time when you came down with a crooked bowtie now, would we."
"Forgive my lack of ability to suddenly shape-shift into any clothes I wish." Swain retorted.
"Very well, see you on the dance floor, my young and dashing knight."
"Hmph, you know how much I hate those Demacian tales."
"Yours sounded a lot like one."
"Kuh, you really know how to get on my nerves, don't you?"
"Well, it's kind of my job after all."
A/N: Hey guys, haven't really managed to get around to making a new chapter as I've been hard at work on my youtube channel to get videos up and gain subscribers and so on (if you guys want to check it out, search Ethereal311 on Youtube and start with Tankplank!). But, I have managed to make this, a decently long chapter focusing on Swain and how I picture him. It's not Xerath, but I just haven't been getting the motivation anymore. Whether this goes on an incredibly long hiatus again I will have to see, but that's definitely becoming more of an option currently. I definitely have more ideas, but I really want some more recognition in the LoL community and some more fanfiction posted on the official LoL Community Creation boards (if any of you have some short stories that you think people would like, then try to post them there as there currently isn't a lot of traffic over there and it needs it badly).
In any case, I want to create at least a Freljord Arc before this fanfiction dies out, or before I try to make a massive reveal of a hype video on my youtube channel (This'll need some time before I can even get the skills and time and it'll require some commissioned artwork from other people) to really promote it.
In the meantime, Enjoy this short story.